Proceed with caution when joining Facebook

I’ve been on it for over a year now. At some point I knew I’d have to write a column about it, acknowledging its presence in my life. I assumed it wouldn’t be a proud moment, but it turns out I’m no longer ashamed to admit it. I’m on Facebook. Me and 34 million other people worldwide. It all started when I went on a mission trip with a youth group last summer. Our local group met and worked and bonded with youth from other churches. Upon returning home, my high school son informed me that several of the youth we met were asking for me on a thing called Facebook. “I’ll set up the account for you, Dad. It’s easy.” And so my journey began, despite some misgivings. I had heard all the horror stories. People who get on that Facebook stuff become addicted, they say. Predators hang out in Facebook chat rooms and have access to personal info. People talk dirty and send inappropriate stuff to each other in such venues. People who don’t have lives (as in “Get a life”) spend hours a day on Facebook because they’re insecure and need attention. Add to this list the possibility of identity theft and the fact that many consider the whole Facebook thing a serious waste of time. And some research suggests, though disputed, that students who have Facebook make lower grades in school. Which hasn’t been a problem for me since my degrees are all complete and up to date at this point. Even so, the more I’ve researched about Facebook, the more potential issues I have discovered. Some minor, some serious. And I didn’t write this column to recommend it to others and extol its virtues. Anyone considering signing up should check out all the facts. And MySpace is a whole other story. I’ll tell you straight up that I don’t have an account there. And it’s highly unlikely I ever will. Do the research, count the costs, and decide for yourself. Twitter. Quite simply, I don’t have time for it. And I don’t know much about it except that the NFL has banned its players from twittering on the sidelines during regular season games. What? Are you kidding me? A linebacker wants to Twitter from his cellphone beside the water cooler while the offense is chewing up the clock and giving him a breather? Apparently so. Back to Facebook. Of course it is abused by folks at times. And some inappropriate stuff rears its ugly head on there, I suspect. Does that mean the medium itself is bad? Some claim that by being involved in such a venture, those who participate are contributing to and, in effect, are condoning the abuses which occur and could potentially occur on Facebook. This column started out as one I wanted to have a little fun with, but as I did the research, I realized it would be improper to minimize the necessary caution that should be taken when jumping on the bandwagon of a seemingly innocent technological phenom. Thus I have provided quite a laundry list of reasons to never sign up for Facebook. But sign up I did. And I’m staying on. And I’ll need another column next week to tell you all the reasons why.

Stroupe vacation (mis)adventures

I may not be on speaking terms with my family after our recent beach vacation. I can only hope they came to view our short stay at the ocean not just as a vacation, but an adventure. Or perhaps a misadventure. First I waited way too late to make reservations. I finally secured a little beach house for us to stay in less than forty-eight hours before we departed. Appropriately, it was called Little Beach House #1. I talked the realty people into giving us a great deal. I think they felt sorry for us. The house was close enough to the beach that we didn’t really need a golf cart. But I got one anyway since I had promised the youngest child we could rent one with the money we saved by getting a great deal. I named it “Little Golf Cart #1” in keeping with the spirit of the vacation/adventure. We left the family car in park and instead took LGC-1 everywhere we went, bein’s how they’re allowed on secondary roads at the beach. Minus an embarrassed teenager, I drove the family to an Early Bird special at a seafood restaurant up on the main strip at North Myrtle Beach. I had to off-road a few times and even ventured on the sidewalk for a few feet one time, but I got us there on back roads and parked on the front row directly in front of the entrance. We took LGC-1 to play putt-putt one day. This time I had to cross the busy highway to get to Hawaiian Rumble. You can cross the highway at a stoplight. As you can tell, I’m somewhat of an expert when it comes to golf cart rules at the beach. But apparently not expert enough. One night we left the two teenagers on the beach to hunt crabs while the rest of us ventured to grab some doughnuts a few miles away, an idea initiated by my lovely wife. “Let’s go on another adventure!” I remember her saying. So enthused and full of myself was I that I grabbed a Krispy Kreme paper hat on the way out of the store and stuck it on my head for the return trip. Just as my arm was extended to the left to indicate that I was turning to pick up my kids, a flashing blue light invaded the peaceful evening bliss. I quickly stuck my Krispy Kreme cap in the dash to appear mature and responsible. My officer friend informed me that golf carts weren’t allowed after dusk, which had occurred about an hour and a half previous. He than asked my youngest son if he should lock me up. When J.T. didn’t answer, I coached him to tell the nice officer to give Dad a break. Fortunately I remained ticket-free that night and was even allowed to keep all my doughnuts as well as the hat. But I received a well-deserved lecture from a sixteen-year-old when I recounted the events later that night. I don’t know if my family will trust me the next time I tell them we’re going on vacation. But with the possible exception of the oldest son, they’ll jump in when I crank up to go. As much as they hate to admit it, they love adventure as much as I do.

Prosperity Guilt

I’m trying to think of a way to describe the feeling. Perhaps I have concocted a new phrase when I refer to it as “prosperity guilt.” It’s that emotion you feel when you return home from a mission trip to a foreign country and you open the refrigerator for the first time. I experienced prosperity guilt upon my return from a recent mission trip to the Dominican Republic. I’m reminded of the people I met there every time I open the fridge, drink water from the tap, take a warm shower, flush a toilet, adjust the air conditioner, flip the light switch, or eat a meal from a full plate. Many of my friends in the Dominican are not afforded these privileges. Our team stopped at an indoor/outdoor fast food restaurant of some sort on our bus trip from the capital to Vicente Noble. A gentleman who was not an employee there offered to clean our tables when we were finished but did not ask for money. As we departed, we noticed he was eating our scraps, carefully nibbling every chicken morsel from the bone before moving to the next plate. Folks in the Dominican Republic don’t seem to get upset when the power goes out, as it does several times a day. But they let out a huge cheer when the power comes back on. We were told by the full-time missionary there that instead of being irritated when the electricity is off, they are thankful when it’s on. All a matter of perspective. We bought ice cream one day for some small children who were hanging out by the church where we were working. One little girl dropped her cone straight into the drainage area of the half-paved street within seconds of receiving the prized gift. Without hesitation she scooped it up and kept on licking. We would have bought her another one but she wasn’t taking any chances. We had little problem getting the local kids to come to Bible school at the church. The challenge was getting them to leave. One day we had the bright idea to take snacks out the front door and hope they would follow. Not only did they follow, but they created a mob scene. Pushing, shoving, and even hitting occurred as they fought for the prize- a single cracker each. For the first time in my life, I truly understood the value of a cheese cracker that day. Late one night a boy on the street who looked to be about nine years old came up and asked me for money. My local friend said I should not give him anything because it would contribute to him being a beggar. I inquired of my friend where the boy’s parents might be and where he would stay that night. I was told that he- like many kids in the town- likely had no parents. Then he pointed to a bench in the local park and indicated that he would spend the night there if he was lucky. I don’t think God wants me or anybody else to experience prosperity guilt. But I do think He wants us to appreciate daily every gift He provides from above. And I don’t think He has too much sympathy for us when we complain. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Practical considerations rule in the Dominican Republic

I’m back from the Dominican Republic. As you may remember, a group of twelve of us from my church journeyed to visit my friend/brother Alex and his church. And let me tell you, my little green notebook is full, so be prepared to read about our trip for a few weeks. I’ve chosen to revisit the lighter side of my trip experience with this week’s edition. And let me first say, especially to my friends in the Dominican who read my column, that I love the D.R. and nothing I poke fun at in this column is meant to be derogatory or disrespectful. The people are awesome and the country is fascinating. That being said, I learned a few things while I was there: A clothes hanger can serve as a makeshift plunger. This revelation evolved from necessity the first night we were there. There is very little water pressure in the Dominican. You can guess the rest. Two water bottles meant for drinking will cause a toilet to partially flush. Again, I’ll leave the majority of this to the imagination, but a scene eerily similar to the “inability to flush incident” from the movie Dumb and Dumber occurred after an outdoor toilet visit where there was no water pressure and a line of patrons outside at the door. The team member in question used the two full water bottles in his possession to coax a partial flush. (One guess as to which team member it was.) I was never as high during a church service as I was in the Dominican. The Holy Spirit was alive that night at our service, but what with the necessity of keeping the windows open due to the lack of air conditioning, we were exposed to everything around us- in addition to the various species of insects inside the church and the sound of the generator which provided us power after the town electricity failed. In the city where we were, the happenings outside included partying, loud music, motorcycles buzzing around, and yes, the intense odor of marijuana wafting through the sanctuary one night. (Fortunately the Spirit was stronger.) Obey a higher calling at all times. Believe it or not, the pastor’s cellphone rang while he was speaking at one of the church services. Believe it or not part two- he answered it. Believe it or not part three- it was for me. We walked outside and both talked to the voice on the other end for a few minutes while the ladies of the church sang a hymn to fill the void. Some things are funny in any language. Our host pastor kept calling my wife- and some of the other ladies in our group- jefa, which means “boss” in Spanish. However, it sounded a lot like “heifer” in English, which led to numerous humorous references to our wives apparently being, in actuality, cows. Blowing your horn is socially acceptable and expected. Nobody honks out of anger. They do it because there are hundreds of intersections and no stop lights. The few stop signs and road markings that exist are mere suggestions and are rarely noticed, much less obeyed. There you have it. Now you are ready to survive in the Dominican Republic. Just remember, for various reasons, to take along some bottled waters.